


Spin the Can

by Colette_Capricious



Series: Games People Play [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:24:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colette_Capricious/pseuds/Colette_Capricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What are you, Dean, twelve?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spin the Can

Dean spins the empty beer can on the linoleum table while Sam flicks desultorily through the four whole channels their latest motel offers. It's Friday night. There’s no case, no news on the yellow-eyed Demon. Dean should be tongue-deep in the hottest girl in town, but Sam's been in mood all day. Dean is torn between wanting to stay and fix it, and wanting to give Sam the beat down he so richly deserves before heading towards the nearest bar.

So he compromises by buying two six-packs from the 7-11 and ragging at Sam until he snaps. Probably not the best choice, but whatever. Dean’s three beers into the night and he has nothing better to do. He’s gotten three eye rolls and two fuck offs, but Sam hasn’t seen fit to move off the bed either to punch Dean or leave himself, so Dean’s going to count that as a win.

The air in the room is thick and cracking with something that makes Dean’s t-shirt feel tight around his neck. Makes him sweat under his arms, behind his knees, and at his hairline. Nervous energy prickles up and down his spine and his leg jitters trying to dissipate it. He spins the can again. When it stops, the top of the can is facing towards Sam.

He reaches out a foot and pushes it against the end of the bed Sam lays on. He tilts his chin at the can. “Ever play spin the bottle at school, Samster? Or is all studying all the time?” He makes a kissy face at his brother. 

“What are you, twelve?” Sam asks, staring at him, eyes unreadable. Dean can’t look away until Sam blinks. Sam shakes his head and drags himself further up the bed.

Minutes pass in silence. Dean mentally pokes at the old pains – mom, Jess – and the newest ones – dad, the demon’s mysterious plans for Sam – they all suck, but none of them seem to be the reason for Sam’s mood and the heaviness in the air. And they certainly don’t explain why Dean is still there, watching Sam brood.

Sam’s heavy exhale is almost a sigh, and Dean turns his gaze away from the fascinating mold stains on the ceiling to catch Sam staring at him. If he didn’t have all that eye-rolling expertise, Dean would worry Sam would get eye-ball whiplash with how quickly he looks away from Dean. Sam stares pointedly at the TV, arms crossed over his chest. Staring at nothing, as far as Dean can tell. From his seat at the table, he can't see the TV screen, but he can hear it, and he can see the light playing over Sam’s face. He listens as Sam flicks through the channels. Newscaster voice, flick, racing car engines, flick, commercial, flick, panting breath and moans, and there's a longer pause before the flick back to the newscaster. Ah, cheesy motel porn. The soundtrack to many of Dean’s sexual awakenings.

Sam flicks through the channels again and Dean watches the light on his face change. Porn again. Again the pause, and Dean sees Sam’s pupils expand as he sucks in a breath. Sam’s finger hovers over the remote. 

Dean can’t quite get enough air in his lungs, but he tries for a laugh anyway. It mostly works. Good enough to pull Sam’s attention from the TV anyway. The line between his eyebrows and the tilt of his head. “Hey, don’t let me stop you from spanking the monkey. You wanna watch porn, watch porn. Especially if it’s free. I’ll go for a walk or something.”

That earns Dean an absolutely epic bitchface, and forces a real laugh from him. “Aw, don’t be that way, Sammy. It’s perfectly natural.”

“Fuck you.” He changes the channel.

Dean spread his hands from his side. “See? Perfectly natural impulse.”

“Why are you such a dick?”

“Why are you so uptight?”

Sam throws the remote at him and Dean catches it cleanly. He grabs two beers out of the leaky Styrofoam cooler. “Catch,” he calls, tossing one to a puzzled Sam. “It’s a beer. You drink it. Looks like you could use one.”

Sam makes a face but Dean can see a small smile fighting to come out. Sam nods, conceding the point, and pops the tab on the beer. He makes a face at the first sip and really looks at the can. “Milwaukee’s Best?”

“Cheapest in the store. Beggars can’t be choosers, Sam my man. Now drink up.” Dean watches as Sam makes quick work of the beer while what sounds like an episode of the Simpsons plays. 

Dean points the remote and television and changes the channel until he hears the porn again and watches Sammy’s face. His mouth twists up at the corners like he’s disgusted, but his eyes are glued to the picture. Dean tosses him another beer and Sam catches it one-handed without really looking away from the screen. 

Sam watches the bodies writhing together and Dean watches Sam. Watches the way he swallows, long throat tilted back, eyes locked on the TV. Sam’s hands are big, covering most of the can. Damn, but did Sammy grow up when they were apart. His body is all lean muscles. And, god help him, Dean knows intimately what that body feels like against his. Years of shared beds and Dean has measured Sam’s growth with his own body for so long. Felt his legs stretch further down Dean’s every year, from knees, to shins, to entangled feet. His arms reach further and further around Dean’s chest or stomach as his body blankets Dean’s during the night. He knows what Sam’s cock feels like against him, and what it feels like to press his morning wood into Sam. More than one morning when they were younger Dean had to force himself to hold still, to breathe deeply – away from the warm, salt-slicked smell of Sam’s neck – and fight the urge to press against the hard warm line of his little brother’s leg. To just slide his thigh up and over Sam’s body, press it down against Sam’s cock, and rub against him until they both shoot all over each other. 

Dean takes another beer and rolls the cold aluminum over his eyes and down the back of his neck, hissing at the feel of it against his flushed skin. _Fuck._ Between his thoughts and the sounds of the porno, Dean is already hard. Why the fuck is he thinking about Sam like that? Why now? Sure they'd shared a bed a few times since Sam came back, sometimes it was all they could find, but Dean didn’t have those kinds of thoughts anymore. And it’s not like he can’t work out the sexual frustration with some random girl. Or guy, if he choose. And sometimes he did.

Lately though, all those anonymous fucks have just left him more lonely. God, he was so lonely when Sam was gone. A rough male voice begs for it harder from the television, and Dean thinks _oh_.

Though Sam’s eyes are still on the screen, every atom of his body is focused on Dean. Dean can feel it and the awareness floods over the sandbags he’s piled up in his mind to keep Sam from drowning him. He’s not alone in this, he’s never been. No matter how many time he's tried to convince himself he was. They’d come so close, too close, before Sam left, but with all that’s happened over the last year, he thought it was gone for good. Except if he's not going crazy, Sam’s been pushing into him a little more deliberately in the mornings. Grabbing and pulling in, hard and quick, before rolling away. And if Dean’s been passing maybe a bit too close behind Sam while he’s brushing his teeth, hips brushing the curve of his ass, fingertips ghosting down a naked back, well, Sam hasn’t pushed him away. It’s an old familiar dance and the steps come back easily. But now Dean’s has experience to add to imagination. Now he knows exactly how good it would feel.

There’s a brief spurt of dialogue as the porno spits out some inane bit of plot, and Sam clears his throat in the brief respite from moans. He looks over at Dean, who just raises his eyebrows mock suggestively and spins the can again. Sam huffs at his brother, but they both watch the can as it spins. It stops, top facing at Sam, tiny bits of foam dripping from it and pooling on the table. 

Dean _tsks_ and shakes his head sadly at Sam. “Looks like you have to kiss me now. Rules of the game. Whoever the bottle points to has to kiss the spinner.”

“You _are_ fucking twelve. And I’m the only other person in the room, Dean.” Sam’s voice is a little breathy. Probably all that porn.

“So you are.” Dean leans back in the chair, legs spread, all false bravado. He dries his sweaty palms on his thighs under the guise of a stretch. Sam watches him, tip of his tongue caught between his teeth.

Dean looks away first this time, pushing up in his seat and turning his body a fraction away from Sam. He knows he could stop this. As of this moment, right now, nothing has really happened, and there is enough plausible deniability that he couldn’t be convicted of anything. But seeing Sam on that bed, hands laced behind his head, legs stretched out for miles and he can’t think of one good reason why he should. Who’s to know? Who’s to care? 

The porn on the TV nears some sort of crescendo and the faked orgasm sounds and forced grunts get higher and louder and faster. Sam uncrosses his ankles and Dean can’t help but notice the tenting of his sweat pants. Dean licks his dry lips and spreads his legs slightly to accommodate his own growing erection. Looking away from Sam, he spins the can again. “Oh look,” he says when it stops spinning. “You again.” His voice sounds strained even to him.

Sam sits up and pulls himself slowly down the bed until he is sitting at the end. Feet flat on the floor, legs falling apart. “It’s spin the bottle, dumbass, not the can.” He’s doing nothing to hide his erection. Those fucking sweatpants emphasize rather than hide Sam’s hard length. Dean is rock hard in his jeans.

“Now who’s twelve? Fine.” Locking his eyes on Sam, Dean reaches into the cooler and pulls out the bottle of Coke he’d bought on his beer run. Laying the bottle on its side, he starts it spinning with a twist of his wrist. The bottle makes a scraping sound as it rotates, somehow louder than the porn. The sound gets lower as it spins slower and slower and slower and finally stops. Pointing right at Sam.

“Better?” Dean asks in a low voice. He grips the edge of the table so Sam won’t see his hands trembling. He’s half hoping Sam will stand up, walk over here and kiss him, and half hoping Sam will be the one to stop this before it goes any further. The electricity in the air crackles and Dean is surprised he can’t see lightning.

The Sam stands up, and the storm break over them. The look in Sam’s eyes knocks all the breath from Dean’s lungs and Dean knows that the chance of anyone stopping this was nonexistent at best. This had been coming since the first morning he woke up to Sam’s hand tight on his hip, holding him in place, and the slow gentle push of Sam’s cock against his ass. Might have been coming their whole lives.

Dean spreads his legs as Sam closes the short distance between them. Sam steps right between Dean’s knees and Dean’s thighs clamp onto him. Sam’s hands are heavy and hot on Dean’s shoulders and Dean slides his hands around the back of Sam’s legs. He has to tilt his head back to see Sam’s face. 

“If you wanted me to kiss you, Dean, you just had to ask.”

 _Okay then._ “Fucking kiss me already.” 

Sam bends down, down, and Dean’s hands drag up to his hips, around to his perfect ass. Sam grips his chin with one hand, the back of head with the other, and just attacks his mouth.

All he can do it hold on as Sam tilts his head back and forth, sliding his lips across Dean’s, nipping at his bottom lip and pulling his jaw down until Dean opens on a gasp. Sam’s tongue invades Dean’s mouth, licking at the roof, at his cheeks, sucking the breath from Dean’s lungs. Dean’s brain spins with force of Sam, with the lack of oxygen, and he tries to remember how to breathe through his nose. Sam’s hips thrust against nothing under Dean’s hands, and Dean’s cock presses hard against his jeans in sympathy, pulsing in time to Sam’s rocking.

Sam pulls off with a shuddering gasp. “God, Dean,” and before Dean can say anything, Sam straddles Dean’s leg and tries to pull himself closer to him. He grabs Dean’s head harder and tilts it almost uncomfortably back, fucking his tongue in and out of Dean’s mouth until Dean is crazy with it, and all he can imagine is Sam pounding into him from behind, fucking him just like that, hard and fast, and lust punches through his gut. He has to let go of Sam’s hips to press down almost cruelly on his dick to stop from coming. Ten fucking years of foreplay and this is going to be over way too soon if Sam doesn’t stop. He can’t talk with Sam’s tongue down his throat. Sam is groaning and whimpering nonstop, twisting as he tries to get friction against his aching cock without breaking the kiss. Dean needs to get control of this now before Sam sprains something. Forcing his head up, he surges up out of the chair, sliding his hands down Sam’s sweat pants as he does. He pulls them away from Sam’s body and yanks them down below the curve of his ass. Sam’s eyes are level with Dean’s now, dark with lust and wide with shock as he gasps at the feel of cool air over his dripping length. “Dean,” he whispers.

“Yeah, Sam,” Dean answers, then wraps one hand in Sam’s silky hair, one hand on the velvet skin of his cock, and pulls Sam’s mouth to him. His tongue plunges into Sam’s mouth and he tastes cheap beer and toothpaste and essence of Sam. Sam’s chest heaves as Dean drags his hand up and down and fucks his tongue in and out. Sam can’t even begin to kiss Dean back. His mouth hangs open and his hands clench convulsively at Dean’s shoulders. Dean can feel Sam’s dick thickening and knows Sam is close. Reluctantly he stops plundering Sam’s mouth to look down and watch Sam’s cock, red and shiny, push through his fist. His mouth waters at the sight and he knows he has to get his lips around that sooner rather than later. He groans and nips and licks his way to Sam’s ear, using the hair twisted around his fingers to move Sam where he needs him. 

“Fuck, Sam,” he moans, flicking his tongue at the pulse under Sam’s jaw. He moves up, bites Sam’s earlobe and Sam whines, straining up on his tiptoes. And Sam’s cock is so wet, just dripping and slicking Dean’s way. “Sam. Sam. Your fucking gorgeous cock.”

Sam pants. “Dean,” his voice is desperate, high and tight. “Please.”

“You close? Gonna come for me?”

“Oh. Oh God. Christ, Dean. Stop. Please, you gotta –“

Dean opens his hand and Sam yells at the loss of sensation, his body quivering under Dean’s hand. Dean looks down slowly between their bodies, and he feels Sam’s gaze tracking his action as he rubs a finger across the tip. Sam follows Dean’s finger as he pulls it up to his mouth and slide the come-covered finger between his lips. “Holy fuck,” Sam whispers. He fights the urge to close his eyes at the bittersweet taste of Sam. He has to see Sam’s face. 

Sam is biting his lower lip so hard, Dean can see the white indentations of teeth. “I gotta what?” he asks, hand dropping down to grip Sam’s cock again. Sam throbs against his palm.

“You gotta –“ Sam cuts off with a whine as Dean tightens his grip and leans his forehead against Sam’s.

“Oh I know what I gotta do, baby boy. I’ve got get my mouth around that gorgeous cock real soon. Want to choke on it.”

“Dean! Fuck! God, yes, please oh, god.” Sam comes with a hoarse shout, body arching back in tight bow, hips thrusting frantically against Dean’s hand. Dean drops his hand to Sam’s back, holding him up as he keeps pumps Sam through his orgasm. Sam is a fucking force of nature when he comes. High cheekbones flushed, swollen lips gasping for breath, and gasps and fucks and please and Dean dripping from his mouth.

Whispering nonsense - how good Sam is, how gorgeous, how hot - Dean eases them both to the bed. Sam is on his back, pants still down around his thighs, legs hanging over the end of the bed. Dean lies on his side next to him, running his hands through Sam’s hair. He’s going for soothing, but he's still hard as a rock and seeing his baby brother lying there, trembling from the spectacular orgasm he just pulled out of him, come dripping down his chest and down his thighs, well, it’s not conducive to soothing. Dean’s hand wanders down Sam’s neck, traces the line of his collarbone, and presses down his chest, feeling the muscles and bones. “Fucking gorgeous,” he says, dragging a finger through the come on Sam’s stomach and dragging it down over the cut of his hip. He rolls against Sam’s body, thrusting gently but with intent as he licks the sweat off Sam’s neck. 

“Dean,” Sam laughs on a raggedy breath. “Jesus Christ, Dean.”

“You come like a fucking porn star, Sammy. Anyone ever tell you that?” Dean tugs Sam’s pants down the long length of his thigh.

Sam groans, hips rolling. “God, no. De – never. No.” Sam turns his head away, a faint blush staining his neck and the back of his ears. Dean drags the pants down as far he can reach and uses his foot to pull them the rest of the way off.

“No?” he bites into Sam’s shoulder. Sam shudders but stay turned away. Dean likes the feel of Sam shuddering against his mouth, so he does it again. “Idiots.” He curves his hand over the soft the stickiness of Sam’s cock. With the other hand, he pops the button of his jeans.

Sam gathers himself and turns onto his side, staring seriously at Dean, slanted eyes dark and serious. “Are you good? Are we good?”

The only way to answer that is with a kiss. Sam’s skin is soft and each scar under Dean’s fingers brings a memory. “We’re good.”

Sam presses his whole body into Dean’s wraps his arms and legs around him and Dean hates his clothing with every iota of his being. “Wanted to do that for so long,” Sam confesses. “It’s one of the reasons why I was so…angry all the time. Part of why I had to leave.”

“I know.” Dean can’t stop his hands from touching all of Sam he can reach. Now that he has permission, he may never do anything else. “It’s part of why I had to let you go. Couldn’t have held out for much longer, man.”

Sam laughs a little, “Me neither. You’re pretty irresistible.” Still wrapped around Dean, he rolls them both, pulling Dean on top of him. As Sam pushes up against Dean, he can tell Sam is fully hard again. The denim must be rough against his cock but Sam just keeps pressing up against Dean’s hips.

God, Dean wants to be naked, but he can’t stop touching and kissing Sam. Sam’s the one who pulls away, panting. “Jesus Christ, Dean. Just get naked and fuck me already.”

Now it’s Dean’s turn to shudder. It's almost too much. He closes his eyes get some space from the intensity in Sam’s gaze. He’d forgotten how passionately and fully Sam feels everything. There are no barriers between Sam and the world. He takes everything into him and puts it back out in spades. Dean groans with the sense memory of Sam tongue-fucking him almost to orgasm. Need is like a dagger in his gut and he aches to feel Sam’s skin against his. 

Hot and cold chills chase up and down his spine, and he feels almost detached from his body as he pushes his jeans off, pulls off his shirt, and coaxes Sam into doing the same. Both fully naked, he pushes Sam back down on the bed and rolls on top of him. Raised up on his elbows, their bodies are pressed together sternum to thigh. Dean rolls his hips up and down into the slick mess on Sam’s stomach and kisses Sam deeply and thoroughly, with all of the passion from earlier but with much more finesse. The need to come presses hard on Dean’s spine, pulls his balls tight against his body. It would be so easy to come this way, Sam’s mouth on his and the feel of his cock sliding against the silk-covered steel of Sam’s muscles. But he wants more. 

God only knows if this will ever happen again. If under the harsh light of day, Sam will realize how fucked up this is and never let Dean touch him again. If this is a one-time only deal, Dean wants it all.

He gives a deep lick into Sam, running the length of his tongue flat across the roof of his mouth, and drives Sam into the bed with a strong, steady thrust. Sam’s moan is a beautiful thing and the slip-slide of their dicks against each other’s is hotter than the slickest move of any girl he’d ever been with. 

With a nip on Sam’s bottom lip, Dean pulls away. Sam’s head lifts off the pillow as he chases the kiss. Dean holds him down with a hand against his shoulder. “Sam. Fucking hell.” He kisses Sam roughly again. He could kiss Sam forever. Breathing heavy, he’s been hard so long it’s starting to hurt. “So fucking gorgeous.” Sam shakes his head no, no. Dean ignores him. “I have to fuck you. Please. Please.” He rubs against Sam, dropping down off is elbows to bury his head in the warm haven of Sam’s neck. He can’t stop the shivers racing up and down his skin and he realizes he’s never wanted anything as much as wants to feel Sam wrapped around him, skin to skin, clenched tight on his dick. Wants to feel Sam come apart from the inside. “Can I fuck you?”

“Already told you to, Dean. Pay attention.” Sam spreads his legs more and Dean settles into the cradle of his hips. Sam slides his legs up until his knees are up, feet flat on the mattress. With a roll of his hips, he flips Dean’s dick off and drags his ass up and over it. Dean feels the soft hair of Sam’s balls.

“Jesus,” Dean grunts “Nice move.” Dean is oddly proud of his little brother’s skills and ready to pound whoever taught him how to do that. “Done this before, Sammy?” he asks, his voice gravelly.

“Not that counted.” He pulls Dean down with a hand behind his neck and kisses the breath out of him. “Be jealous later. Fuck me now. Please. For the love of god.”

“So pretty when you beg.” He presses against the back of Sam’s thighs, rolling him higher, and pushes his cock over and over again into the crack of Sam’s ass, the wetness at the tip providing not nearly enough lubrication. Sam is moaning softly, eyes closed, hips rolling as he tries to get Dean deeper, closer. Dean’s shifts until his hands are wedged in the crease of Sam’s knees. He rolls Sam higher, until his hips are complete off the bed. His cock hangs obscenely from his body, huge and hard, and begging to be sucked. Dean really has to get to that soon. As soon as he can stop rutting against Sam’s ass. Any minute. Really. Dean moves against Sam in long, slow slide, dragging his dick up the crack, the head catching on Sam’s opening and it’s too dry, too rough. It’s a slick of pain and pleasure and Dean thinks he might die from it. Knows he’s gonna come from it. “Sam, I can’t – I want…” He’s panting and he can’t stop.

Sam eyes are dark and hooded as he reaches his hand up to Dean’s mouth, palm out. “Lick it,” he demands. With a groan, Dean does. Licking and nipping and tasting soap, and the faint hint of metal and gun oil from earlier. He licks and nips until Sam’s palm is dripping. Sam takes his hand back, pushes Dean away just a bit with his legs, enough that he can reach down and slick Dean’s cock with his own saliva. Then he pulls Dean tight against him, bending almost in half, and just pulls Dean into him. The spit is almost enough, slicks the way just enough and Dean slides up and down and Sam clenches around him. Dean’s head hangs heavy between his shoulders, sweat dripping onto Sam. The blood is roaring in his ears and he almost doesn’t hear Sam panting, “C’mon Dean. C’mon on, man. Come for me.”

Dean drops Sam’s leg to the bed, and wraps his hand around Sam’s cock. He’s past talking, past thought, he just needs. Needs to come and needs to see Sam come again. He can’t get enough of that. Loud moans punch out of him, and Sam’s fucking beautiful, begging and promises and swearing drowning out the porno he vaguely realizes is still on in the background. Two last, vicious, thrusts and there’s a grey buzz behind his eyelids and in his ears and he’s coming harder than he ever has. The bed pounds against the wall. Breath and come and sweat pulled from him and he shoots up over Sam’s hand, onto his stomach, some lands on his own chest. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Sam shouts and he’s coming again, writhing under Dean, legs locked around Dean’s back.

Trembling with aftershocks, Dean collapses on top of his little brother. Sam lowers his legs to the bed with a groan. Panting, gulping in air, they try to get their breath back. Dimly, Dean registers that the pounding is still going on, and he realizes it’s coming from the other side of the wall.

An angry man’s voice calls through the wall. “Goddamn it. You two faggots shut the hell up or I’m calling the cops! I got kids in here!”

Dean huffs out a laugh, and Sam moans. “Childhood memories.” He shakes his head. “Good times. Good times.”

Dean runs his hand through the trails of come on Sam’s stomach. He likes the idea of their come mixed together. But then again, he always has been a bit twisted, case in point – fucking his little brother. He lifts a finger to his mouth, licks at it, and decides he likes it. Sam growls low in his throat and grabs Dean’s hand, pull to his mouth and licks it clean.

“Fuck, Sammy.” Dean thinks he loves that look in Sam’s eyes.

They lay side by side, just breathing, and the crappy porno music fills the room. “Think you can use those freaky mind powers and shut the television off?”

Sam laughs. “I wish. There’s a gun on the night stand. Could shoot it.”

Dean shakes his head. “Then that asshole next door really would call the cops.”

“We were kind of loud.”

“You were loud.” Dean rolls to face Sam. “Always pegged you as a beggar, Sammy.”

“Yeah?” He leans over and traces Dean’s lips with his tongue, nips at them at pulls away. Dean definitely does not whine at the loss, but Sam laughs anyway. “Right. Let’s see how you sound with my cock in your ass.”

Dean is…not opposed to that idea, but he can’t give in too easily. “Oh, big words, little brother.” Sam groans at that and throws his arm across his face. 

Dean sighs. He knew this was going too easily. Must be time for the Sam angst. Dean might have to pencil in a small freakout himself sometime in the next few days. But right now, he just wants to enjoy this guilt-free. Dean pulls Sam's arm off his face. “Sam, look at me. Are you going to freak out about this?”

He pulls Sam’s head towards him and inhales deeply at the look in Sam’s eyes. It’s not the recrimination Dean had feared Sam was hiding, it was lust. Sam’s eyes are almost black with it. And Dean knows exactly what had put it there. Thank god, another thing he wasn’t alone in. His smile is dark and dangerous as he reaches out, tracing down the line of Sam’s body with his fingertips. “Oh, you like that? Being brothers?”

Sam refuses to meet Dean’s eyes, but the shudder of his breath gives him away. Sam always says as much with his breath as with words. Dean leans in close to Sam’s ear. He can pay dirty when he wants to. And he so wants to. “You like the idea of fucking your big brother, don’t you?”

“Dean,” Sam whines. 

“Oh, don’t worry, baby boy, it’s gonna happen. And then I’m going to fuck you into the mattress.”

Sam exhales and then laughs. “We are some sick fucks.”

“Oh, yeah.” Dean rolls back on top of him and it’s sticky and kind of gross and the hottest thing he’s ever, ever felt. "Thank god." Maybe he won't need that freak out after all. 

Let the guy next door pound and call the cops. Dean will shoot him, shoot the television. He’ll burn the whole fucking world down if it tries to get between him and Sam.

Just watch him.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be Weecest. It was supposed to be short. Oh well.


End file.
